


death first to vultures and scavengers

by technorat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cults, Enemies to Lovers, Force-Sensitive Armitage Hux, M/M, Minor Character Death, Necromancy, Pre-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/technorat
Summary: Kylo Ren is tasked by Snoke with the retrieval of a set of Force-sensitive cultists from Arkanis.Hux is not at all what he had expected of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 9/10/2020: You can find the art [here](https://reeby10.livejournal.com/142243.html) ! 
> 
> Edit 9/7/2020: happy halloween again... I actually finished this fic! chapter 1 has been revised.
> 
> Happy Halloween!
> 
> warnings applicable for this chapter: necromancy, descriptions of the dead. nothing is terribly graphic.
> 
> Somewhat of an AU. A lot of the cult and necromancy elements are borrowed from "Gideon the Ninth" which is a book I love, love, love. (cough cough lesbian necromancers in space that are enemies to lovers cough cough)

Snoke had sent him to Arkanis, a damp and dreary planet.

Worse, the Supreme Leader had told him to find a group of _karking _cultists, who may or may not still be on the blasted planet.

Ren flexes his fists and the shuttle shudders around him. The Stormtroopers are wary, sending one another glances through their helmets. These Stormtroopers are not his own. They were _requisitioned _from General Pryde.

As if he were not co-commander of the Finalizer.

But Ren held his tongue. There is a greater purpose in serving Snoke’s will.

“Sir,” says an officer, his cap tucked against his chest. “We are arriving.”

Ren tilts his head. “We are still in orbit,” he says slowly. “Careful, lieutenant. Need I remind you that lying to your superior officers is an offense against the Order”

If possible, the officer grows more pale. “We are waiting for permission to land, sir,” he says, wrinkling his poor cap something awful. It will never be free of those creases.

Ren snorts, but his mask modulates it to something more menacing. “Just who are we asking permission of?” he drawls.

What he really means is: _who dares defy the might of the First Order?_

“The Reverend Lady Maratelle Hux and her husband the Reverend Lord Brendol Hux, their Celestial Kindliness, the First Reborn, the House of the First,” says the officer, unaware of how ridiculous these titles sound.

“The cultists.”

“Sir,” the officer whispers now, almost conspiratorially. “It would be best if you did not call them the to their faces.”

Ren snorts once again.

Their shuttle move. It seems like they were given permission after all.

Ren stands, his hand upon the hilt of his lightsaber. He is strong, he is able, taught by Supreme Leader Snoke. The Force is with him.

Those of Arkanis might think they were seeped in Darkness, but Ren had his doubts.

Why would they be so steeped? Because of the pitiful weather they endure? Because of the atrocities of the New Republic? Because they decided it after beginning to worship bones? They had strange practices. So what?

When the shuttle lands, Ren leads his squadron of Stormtroopers and delegated officers out. It is raining heavily, the scent of green things lingering in the air.

There is no conventional party from Arkanis there to greet them. Just three cultists.

He feels nothing roll off of them, nothing of the Force either.

They are slight and tall, almost as tall as he is. They wear drab black robes that fall down to their ankles, much like the Knight of Ren’s favored clothing. He is unsure of their genders or their ages. They have their hair cropped at their chins, red as the dying light.

Their faces are painted in black and alabaster, glaring skulls against their skin.

“We welcome you,” they say in unison.

A chill creeps into Ren and settles amongst his bones.

“Lord Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, heir apparent to Darth Vader, Prince of Darkness.”

Ren dares not breathe as they recite his own many titles. There is something uncanny about their tone. Unnatural. As if it is all rehearsed.

Worse, he feels nothing, nothing, nothing coming from them still. No emotions, no passing thoughts. It’s as if they were not really there.

Ren nods, slowly, and goes where they lead him.

Arkanis is desolate. He feels death swirling amongst the mists. The cultists lead them to the to the fallen Academy and the rubble left behind. Their group pauses for a moment, staring into the depths of the planet. A hole blasted straight through the surface.

A cavern, steps whittled out of black rock.

Ren stays on the inside of the steps, his gloved hand trailing against the wall.

Naturally, should he fall, he would be able to save himself. He has done so before.

But there is something about not being able to see the bottom of the pit that unnerves him greatly.

They descend the endless stairs. He can feel the exhaustion of the Stormtroopers and the officers mounting. The officers have not practiced such exercise since their cadet days. The Stormtroopers are only so much better.

Finally, when the mousy officer’s legs begin to tremble uncontrollably, their party reaches the bottom of the stairs.

A carving in the obsidian marks a door. The cultists gesture broadly with their pale hands, white as moonlight. The door slides open with a rumble.

“Come,” the cultists say, beckoning them forth.

Ren looks over over his shoulder, at the pit they leave behind.

The cavern continues down, seemingly to the core of the planet itself. Hardly any light reaches down there.

Fear roils from all of the assembled, save the cultists.

Ren again clutches his lightsaber and grits his teeth.

Snoke had better reward him for this. Snoke had better heap praise upon his shoulders. Snoke had better grant him a heap of kyber crystals as tall as he is.

Ren takes a breath and enters the crypt.

*

The crypt is lit by harsh electric lights. The halls are narrow, winding things, little better than a maze. Ren’s head is heavy, a buzz growing within his skull.

The cultists are surefooted. Nearly possessed. They lead Ren and his men down the soundless halls before coming to an abrupt halt.

Ren halts too, annoyed.

Would this Maratelle be angered if he freed a few cultists of their heads?

“What is it?” Ren barks.

“We can accompany you no more,” the cultists say. The electric lights flicker and hum and, sometimes, the cultists look like they are nothing but floating skulls. They bow at the waist, holding their hands out on either side of them, palms facing up. “You are about to be in the presence of the Reverend Lady—”

He can stomach no more titles.

Ren pushes past the cultists. They part like wet tissue.

Behind the door is some sort of receiving chamber.

Upon a dais sit a woman and a man, shrouded in black robes. He makes out a sliver of the woman’s face, pale, silvery skin, smooth and unadorned by those garish paints.

Rows of pews sit before the dais, split into two section. There are people already here. Waiting. They wear the same black robes and skull paint, pale fingers rattling their bracelets, heavy beads clacking together.

Ren marches down this central aisle, leaving his men behind to decide what they are to do for themselves.

“Lady Maratelle, Lord Brendol,” Ren calls out. “Supreme Leader Snoke has bid me to come here. The First Order seeks those strong in the Force. The Galaxy is within our reach. All will be ours.”

_Join us or die in an orbital bombardment_, he kindly does not say.

Lady Maratelle and Lord Brendol are silent. They do not even twitch at the sound of his voice.

One of those cultists sitting at a pew rises. Like others, this one wears a heavy robe and stark paint upon their face, hair red as flame.

“The Reverent Lady Maratelle Hux and her husband the Reverend Lord Brendol Hux have taken a vow of silence,” this particular cultist says.

This is a man, a sneering, wicked man.

Further, Ren can _feel_ him in the Force, something Dark and terrible. His pale eyes are burning.

“Who are you?” Ren demands.

“The Reverend Son, Armitage Hux, the Starkiller,” breathes a woman from the front pew. “Son to the—”

Ren holds up his hand. The Stormtroopers rest their hands upon their blasters.

The temperature in the room drops.

“That,” Armitage Hux says, “would not be wise.”

His voice is cold, so cold. It makes Ren tremble.

He isn’t sure if he would prefer to stick his lightsaber through this Hux or something more crude.

“Sit,” Armitage hux says. “You are welcome to join us in our prayer.”

Ren cocks his head. “Pray?” he repeats derisively.

“Do they not have prayer on whatever station you are from?” Hux asks, looking down on him.

_That nerf herder._

Ren seethes.

But it would not do him any good to choke Hux.

Not now, not yet.

Perhaps when he had left this blasted planet, with Hux in tow, Ren would get his revenge.

He seats himself in the spot vacated by Hux.

The woman beside him smiles warmly, white teeth against dark paint. The skull on her face is asymmetrical and broken. Her red hair is tinged with grey at her temples.

The Stormtroopers and officers find seats amongst these parishioners.

Hux waits until all is still and silent, save for the clack of beads. He rises and comes to stand before his parents.

“I pray that the tomb is shut forever. I pray that the rock is never rolled away. I pray that which was buried remains buried, insensate, in perpetual rest with closed eye and stilled brain,” Hux says.

Around them, the painted cultists repeat his words. Ren can feel emotions roll from some of them, devotion, desire, a deep and unending desperation for _something_.

“I pray it lives, I pray it sleeps. I pray it serves the eternal Emperor.”

_Palpatine?_

Ren blinks. Then snorts. Did they not know he was long dead? Did they really worship karking _Palpatine_?

“Let it be so,” Hux murmurs, softer than the rest of his words, which had been so articulate and sharp, almost to the point of hurting Ren’s ears.

“Let it be so,” the cultists echo back.

“We welcome our guest, the Lord Kylo Ren, into the folds of our tomb. May he live forever, may he live, may he sleep,” Hux says.

The time the words are repeated back more softly.

But this was no ordinary addition to whatever _karking_ prayer service the people of this planet attend. It is unnecessary. It burrowed beneath Ren’s skin.

Lady Maratelle and Lord Brendol bob their heads in a nod. Then they rise together in a swirl of robes and shrouds, hand in pale, slender hand, and exit through a hall. It’s eerie how synchronized they are.

Row by row, the cultists rise and take their leave, save for the woman beside Ren.

Prayer is over it seems

“Come with me,” Hux tells him.

When Ren goes to stand, so do his men. They flood the air with their anxiety.

“No,” Hux says sharply, gaze settled upon Ren’s mask. “Only you.”

Ren bares his teeth. How dare he? How dare this _bastard_—

“Let him bring one,” says the woman. “He’ll want a friend.”

Hux looks at her, his expression softening, before nodding. “Very well. But just one.”

Ren turns and points at the mousey lieutenant from before. He raids the man’s mind for his name. “Mitaka,” he barks. “With me.”

The woman joins them. Ren attempts to skim her thoughts and is bounced off. She looks at him, amused, and says nothing.

Hux takes them down a hall and into something of a bedroom. His quarters. It is a small, austere thing, lit harshly over head.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Hux says. “I will put on tea.”

Ren sits on the ice blue couch in the center of the room. He cannot be made comfortable on that thing.

With a little prompting, Mitaka sits beside him, folding his hands in his lap.

The woman sits down on an armchair, resting her arms on either side of her. “My name is Paldagh,” she says. She is at ease here, of all places. “Would you mind removing your mask?”

There is something strangely disarming about her.

Slowly, Ren does as she asks and removes his mask. He regrets it instantly upon hearing Mitaka’s sharp intake of breath.

“You’re so young,” Paldagh says, covering the curve of her lips with a hand.

Ren does not acknowledge this statement. He sets the mask aside.

Hux glides out of the small kitchenette, a tray held in his hands. He places four little cups onto the table. They are old, possibly family heirlooms. They show their age, chipped and cracked in places. Hux pours tea for each of hem from a precious little teapot. The brew is strong and dark, overwhelmingly floral.

“Bitter tarine,” Hux says. He seats himself on the other side of Ren and takes a fortifying sip of tea. He takes it with no sugar. Somehow, Ren feels as though he should have expected this.

Ren drinks too.

He very much doubts he’d be poisoned so obviously. The tea is _disgusting_. He winces and sets the cup right back down onto the table.

Mitaka coughs and follows suit.

Hux raises a brow, the skull pain obscuring this gesture. “Pray tell,” he says, “after all these years, what does Snoke require of us?”

What he should be hearing is: _after all these years, Supreme Leader Snoke has decided to save our sorry souls from this decrepit tomb?_

Ren leans forwards, resting his elbows upon his knees. He looks into Hux’s eyes, unable to discern just what color they are. What he is certain of is Hux’s slender statue, so thin that he may well break. The paint across his face cannot hide signs of malnutrition.

The cultists are dying out.

“You have Force users,” Ren says.

Hux blinks, slowly, and Ren sees that even his eyelids have been painted pitch. “And?” Hux snarls, baring all of his teeth. “What would Arkanis gain from you coming to take away those that call it home?”

_A rabid cur._

Ren does not know why the thought springs to him, but he latches onto its image. Hux needs to be leashed and collared. Put in his place.

“You’re obviously not doing well on supplies, Reverend Son,” Mitaka says.

Hux looks at him, narrowing his eyes. “What exactly makes you say that?”

“Lieutenant Mitaka,” Mitaka says, foolishly introducing himself.

“I am aware of your name.” Hux looks bored again.

Mitaka shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “Well, Reverend Son, you must be aware that most of your people are dead.”

Ren pauses.

It explains, then, how so many of the cultists gathered within the prayer chamber had no presence in the Force. They are merely husks, manipulated skillfully.

Particularly the Reverend Lady and her husband.

Hux laughs, little more than a sharp bark.”How insightful,” Hux says. “Careful Ren, it seems Snoke placed his confidence in the wrong man.”

Mitaka blushes something terribly, red blotches on his pallid face.

Ren comes to his feet and ignites his lightsaber. It casts a red glow on every surface, illuminating red starbursts across the whites of Hux’s eyes.

“You dare insult the apprentice to the Supreme Leader?” Ren asks.

“You dare threaten me within my own home?” Hux asks in turn. He raises his hand, an index finger pointed accusingly at Ren.

“No wonder your parents dropped dead,” Ren snarls, leaning into Hux’s space. “I would too if I had to be in your presence for so long.”

Hux does not flinch. He does not even give Ren the satisfaction of trembling. He rises to Ren’s challenge, his nose millimeters away from Ren’s.

Paldagh sighs dreamily. “Boys, boys,” she says. “Settle down. There is to be no harm done tonight, if everything is to go well.”

“Mother,” Hux says, scandalized.

Ren looks at her oddly. “Mother?” he repeats.

And what of Maratelle?

“As if you can say anything about your own family,” Paldagh says. The smile falls off of her face, yet another mask she wears. “Ben Organa-Solo. Would it that I could have seen your mother’s face when you fell.”

There is something so Dark within her that it sends shivers down his spine.

Ren flinches as though he were slapped and, face burning, sits down. He holds the unlit hilt of his saber across his lap.

He realizes something.

Snoke never needed Lady Maratelle or Lord Brendol.

He needs _Paldagh._

“We can begin negotiations,” Mitaka says, pretending that the previous interaction did not happen. He pulls a datapad from a pocket along with its stylus. “The First Order is prepared to claim Arkanis as part of its territory, under its own governance, should the Force sensitive of Arkanis join Supreme Leader Snoke on the Supremacy.”

Hux remains unmoved. He blinks, very slowly like a bored cat, and looks to his mother.

Paldagh nods, a slight dip of her head.

“We of Arkanis have our own terms for joining your leader on his ship,” Hux says. He pauses, grinds his teeth.

Perhaps it hurt his fragile pride to admit that he wanted off this stinking death trap.

“What do you want?” asks Ren.

Blood drips from Hux’s nostril, trailing over paint until it reaches the curve of his lip. “I want for all of the living to be welcomed by the First Order and be granted decent living conditions. Gainful employment. Whatever way you’d like to phrase it.” Blood drips from his eyes. He doesn’t even notice this. “I want for neither of you to ever breathe a word of the truth, about all the dead, to anyone outside of this room.”

Mitaka nods eagerly, a thrill coursing through and around him.

The First Order always needs more soldiers, given how they drop like flies.

“Snoke will know,” Ren says.

Hux again looks to his mother.

Paldagh nods, her green eyes glimmering with amusement. “It’s alright if it’s Snoke.”

“But only Snoke,” Hux is quick to say.

The doors to his chamber slide open. Lady Maratelle and Lord Brendol walk in, still in total synch. With stiff hands, they take Mitaka’s data pad and sign where it is appropriate.

When their shrouds part, Ren sees and, more unfortunately, smells the rot.

“There,” Hux says, once they are done. “When shall we leave?”

Eager, wasn’t he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for canon typical Force violence

They gather the living.

Ren counts two dozen individuals wearing dark robes and macabre paint. Amongst the small number, a handful are Force sensitive. Five, including both Hux and Paldagh.

Together, they gather before the entrance, somber and silent.

The corpses of the Reverend Lady and the Reverend Lord wait on either side of the group. Behind them are more of the animated dead.

"The Reverend Lady Maratelle Hux and her husband the Reverend Lord Brendol Hux have made the difficult decision to stay behind and see that the tomb is truly shut forever," Hux says."The most devout choose to stay too. We must thank and honor them always for their sacrifice as we journey beyond Arkanis and to the stars."

"We thank you," those of Arkanis say. The clacking of beads and bracelets echo their words.

Ren's skin crawls.

"I pray that the tomb is shut forever. I pray that the rock is never rolled away," Hux says loudly. "I pray that which was buried remains buried, insensate, in perpetual rest with closed eye and stilled brain."

The cultists do not repeat his words. They listen, tears trickling down their cheeks, smearing their elaborate paint.

“I pray it lives, I pray it sleeps. I pray it serves the eternal Emperor. Let it be so.”

“Let it be so.”

The Reverend Lady and the Reverend Lord bow, their heads swallowed by their robes.

Hux removes his gloves, revealing space pale skin, palms marred with thick, angry scars. He moves his hands gracefully as the obsidian slides together, shutting the tomb. But he is not done yet. Hux continues to gesture as the stone smooths out further, becoming part of the rock wall.

The tomb is shut forever. Ren rolls his eyes.

They all go up the endless stairs.

It is another bout of suffering for the officers and Stormtroopers, yes, but no one suffers more than those of Arkanis.

They take breaks periodically, the cultists sitting in huddles on the narrow stairs. They eat food bleached entirely of color, white fruits and vegetables, and drink from old, Imperial canteens.

Hux and his mother abstain from these breaks, staying stubbornly on their feet, eating nothing.

When they reach the top of the stairs, the living Arkanians are assaulted by sunlight.

It would have been funnier if Ren could not feel their agony as his own.

The Arkanian cultists had spent the last thirty years beneath the ground, living amongst corpses. It shows.

Ren leads them to his ship and up the ramp. It takes time for those of Arkanis to settle. So many of them had never seen a spacecraft in their lifetime. Their emotions roll and churn, like rain against Ren’s skin.

“Leaving atmo,” Ren’s pilot informs him.

Hux stands at perfect parade rest, his hands folded behind his back. The sun of the Arkanis system paints his red hair as a crown. Hux catches Ren staring and sneers, showing a glimmer of sharp teeth.

They do not speak at the shuttle hurtles into hyperspace.

*

Upon arriving on the Finalizer, Ren demands for MedBay officers to greet them.

The Arkanians are malnourished, this Ren had known. It is apparently more dire than he had thought. MedBay officers are quick to connect Arkanians to fluid drips and give them a round of vaccinations.

All save for Hux and his mother.

Hux stands tall, but he must be hungry. Tired. Weak.

“You know,” Ren says, voice harsh through his vocoder, “it wouldn’t do to let your people see you faint.”

“My people must be helped first,” Hux says. His painted face looks more harsh upon the sleek corridors of the Finalizer.

Ren wonders, briefly, just how he would look when the paint and robes were stripped from his form.

Paldagh gives him a look and shakes her head.

“As you can clearly see, your people are getting the treatment that they need,” Ren says. “Now it’s your turn. It’s not like we’re lacking in resources.”

Unceremoniously, Ren grabs Hux’s arm (thin, much too thin, his hand wraps around the width of it easily) and drags him through the halls, to his chambers. Paldagh follows behind, amused. Several meddroids meet them there and sanitize the rooms.

“You should take a sonic,” says Ren.

“You just want to see me look foolish,” says Hux.

Ren shakes his head. “You already look foolish.”

“Dear,” Paldagh says, narrowing her eyes. “Bullying isn’t very charming, now is it?”

The mask is the only thing that hides Ren’s burning cheeks from their gazes.

“I’ll go check in on those in MedBay,” Paldagh says and, before Ren could stop her or send a droid to guide her, she leaves in a swirl of dark fabric. The doors slide shut mechanically.

A droid beeps and prods unkindly at Hux’s leg.

“Fine,” Hux says, scowling at the poor thing. “Provide me with clean clothing.” And he goes to the fresher, a droid at his heels.

Ren does not follow. He doesn’t ask if Hux even knows how to operate a sonic. Evidently Hux knows enough because he comes out eventually, dressed in First Order exercise gear.

The paint is gone.

Ren’s breath hitches in his throat. It comes out of the vocoder like a garbled squeak.

Hux is pale and lovely, with sharp cheekbones. His skin is unfairly smooth for someone who spent their life wearing greasy paint and eating little of nutritional value. He is wearing Ren’s bathrobe, far too large for his frame. “What?” he demands.

“You’re young,” Ren manages to say.

“So are you,” Hux says unkindly. “What does it matter?”

It doesn’t.

A droid forces Hux to sit and hoists fluid drips into him. It beeps at Hux disparagingly, lecturing him on his poor health. Ren attempts to ignore the long list of maladies. It isn’t any of his business.

“Are you hungry?” Ren asks.

“Hah?” Hux crosses his arms, leading to another burst of binary from the droid. “Isn’t it late?”

Ren shrugs. Time doesn’t matter so much on a Stardestroyer. “The kitchens will still be open. We work on shifts, so somebody always needs breakfast.”

Here, Hux hesitates. “Then yes. I would like to requisition a meal.”

Ren finds a datapad and sends his demands to the kitchens. He doesn’t know what Hux eats, so he orders a good variety, surely to someone else’s headache.

Another droid takes Hux’s measurements before bustling off to fabrications.

Hux scowls at it. “What will happen to my robes?” he asks

Ren removes his mask and sets it aside in its tray of ash. “Will you really miss them?” he asks. “They’re better off incinerated.” Who knows how contaminated they were from a life living amongst the dead.

Hux looks him up and down, settling finally on Ren’s cowl. Never once does he smile. “Funny coming from you.”

“What? You want to borrow my clothes?” Ren settles heavily on his couch, sprawling out. He lets out a long sigh. He had not noticed his own exhaustion. “I’m sure you’ve already noticed that I’m bigger than you.”

More droids let themselves in, carrying stacks of covered trays. They arrange the meal less than carefully on Ren’s coffee table.

Hux snorts. He paces the length of the room, eyeing the procession of droids. “It isn’t my fault that you must eat like a bantha.”

“How would you even know what a bantha is?” Ren demands.

“There are such things as books you know,” Hux says primly. He seats himself on the edge of the couch.

Ren lifts the covers to each and every tray with a wave of his hand.

Hux’s stomach growls at the smell. “What is that?” he asks.

Ren allows himself the largest bantha steak. “I thought you said you knew what a bantha was,” he says, goading the other man.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Ah. Yes. My mistake, I should have recognized it in its natural state.” He stabs one of the remaining steaks with vengeance and drags it to his plate.

Ren laughs. “You’re so hateful.”

It’s pretty hot.

Hux rolls his eyes again. “Is this your attempt at flirting?” he asks.

“Dunno.” Ren cuts a piece of steak and feeds himself. He likes it rare. “Is it working?”

“It would work better if you shut up and let your looks be your charm,” Hux states.

Huh.

He doesn’t get that often.

“Don’t be like that,” Hux says, setting aside his fork and knife. He hasn’t eaten much. Like a bird, merely pecking at his food.

“Be like what?”

“Difficult.” Hux tilts his head and its his gaze settle on Ren’s lap. “We could make it easy.”

A shiver travels down the length of Ren’s spine.

Far too eagerly, he says, “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Hux’s voice is crisp and precise. Like a cut from a monomolecular blade. He closes the distance between them and places a pale hand on Ren’s cheek. He guides the other man and kisses him clumsily.

“Have you ever done this before?” Ren asks.

“What do you think?” Hux asks.

Ren laughs.

In that dark, stinking tomb, surrounded on all sides by the deceased and by his responsibilities, Hux did not have a chance to debase himself like that.

“Lucky me,” Ren comments and guides Hux into another kiss. He lets his hand linger on the back of Hux’s neck. He can feel Hux’s pulse, that hummingbird fluttering fast pulse.

…Why did Hux want this now?

“Why?” Ren asks.

“Why not?” Hux is nervous. This he realizes now.

Why is Hux nervous?

Ren pauses. The sight of Hux wrecked so easily is delightful. The flushed cheeks, the red lips, the mused hair. The bone white of his shoulder. But the stench of fear is less so.

Hux clambers onto Ren’s lap and throws his arms around Ren’s shoulders. “What?” he says, growing acidic once again. “You don’t want me?”

Ren’s hands find their place around Hux’s middle. He’s so tiny that Ren can nearly encircle his waist with both hands. “You’re distracting me,” Ren says slowly. “You don’t want this.”

Hux grinds down on him angrily. “Who are you to tell me what I want?”

“You want safety,” Ren says. He runs a hand down the length of Hux’s spine, projecting warmth and calm. “You think you have to sleep with me to be safe?”

Hux snorts, as though this is obvious. “You are the Supreme Leader’s apprentice,” Hux says carefully, as if this should mean anything.

“Yeah, and?” Ren looks up at him. He cannot tell how old Hux is. He must be around his age. Maybe a little older. “Do you really think endearing yourself to me will keep you safe?”

This is the wrong thing to say evidently.

Hux slides off of his lap and paces the length of Ren’s quarters, his arms wrapped around himself.

He looks scared. Alone.

(Ren does not allow himself to linger on that thought. Not when Hux was Force sensitive and steeped with Dark. Not when Hux controlled the corpse of his father and his father’s wife like puppets. Not when Hux had lived in Dark for years and years.)

“There is something my mother must do soon,” Hux says. “I do not know if she has the strength to do it. And when she is done… the world will be irrevocably changed.”

When he says this, it sounds like a deathbed confession.

“She’s very strong,” Ren comments. He gets up from the couch. “You are both wanted by the First Order for your strength and talents. You have nothing to fear.”

Hux blinks slowly. His gaze could cause supernovas.

“Really?” Hux says, drawing out the word. “Does Snoke punish you, Ren? Leave you writhing on the floor with his lightning? Does he ever throw you around with the Force? Does he hit you?”

Ren’s heart stops in his chest. He grabs his lightsaber and snarls. “What are you insinuating?” he says, holding the frizzling saber to Hux’s throat.

Hux looks at him mildly. “What I am saying is this: even you, in your esteemed position, are not safe from his wrath?” Hux asks.

“You don’t know Snoke!”

There is a reason for Snoke’s methods. There must be.

Hux's eyes look almost gold. "How sure are you?" he asks coldly, and allows the lightsaber to scorch his throat.

Ren shuts the saber off. "What the kriff?" Ren says, throwing his lightsaber aside. "Why did you do that?"

Hux does not flinch. "Do you understand?" Hux asks him.

There is nothing for Ren to understand, other than Hux is fucking crazy. Leaning into a lightsaber blade, gaze never straying from Ren's own. There is no fear within him.

The door to Ren's room slides open and Paldagh lets herself in. She's still in those dusty, dark robes and she still wears the grim paint on her face. Paldagh smiles, but there's no warmth to it.

"When will we have a chance to speak with Snoke?" Paldagh asks. There is no fondness in her voice. In fact, there’s derision.

Though she has never met Snoke, she hates him.

The mother and son exchange odd looks. Slowly, Hux removes the IV lines from his inner elbow one by one.

What the kriff are the Huxes thinking now?

"Did no one give you a change of clothing?" Ren asks Paldagh.

But Paldagh dismisses him with a hand. "I am comfortable," she says easily enough.

Whenever his Knights returned to any of the First Order flagships dragging dirt and debris behind them, they were given stern lectures by acting generals, of the danger that planetside bacteria could bring aboard their pristine environments. He does not think this lecture would dissuade Paldagh much.

"Supreme Leader Snoke will inform me when he is available for an audience," Ren says.

It could be this cycle. It could be the next. It could be never. He does not tell them this.

Paldagh's smile grows more cold. "Please, dear," she says. "Inform Snoke that the time is now."

Ren raises his hand and summons his datapad before he realizes what he's doing. "Stop that," he orders Paldagh. "I'm not one of your puppets."

"How easily that might change," Paldagh says simply.

Suddenly, Ren is entirely sure that it was Paldagh who killed Maratelle and Brendol and convinced her son to use them as puppets. Had she created the creepy aesthetic of her cult? Who was she and what were her motives now that they were off dying Arkanis.

"Mother," Hux says, surprisingly soft. He places a hand over his mothers and lowers it slowly. "He has his uses still."

What a stunning assessment. Ren almost wishes that he had freed Hux's head from his neck.

"Does he?" Paldagh says, unsure. "I have not seen any. Tell me, Ben Organa-Solo, are you still afraid of the Dark?"

Paldagh's eyes are Sith yellow. Her scleras are red. The paint seems more than such. She looks like Death given form. She raises a hand and strikes him down, lightning coursing through his body.

"What are you?" Ren asks her, sprawled painfully on the floor. His muscles jolt and twist.

Paldagh kneels. "You should have asked me who Armitage will be," she says, and taps gently him on his nose.

"Mother," Hux says, this time more urgently.

Paldagh rolls her eyes and steps away from Ren. Her footsteps make no noise.

“What the fuck was that?” Ren says, gathering himself. He cannot rise. His limbs are still numb.

Hux ducks and helps him up. There’s deceptive strength in his wiry form. “Mother gets angry,” he says quietly.

“Does she ever strike you?” Ren asks him.

Hux shakes his head. “Father used to,” he says, after a while. “Mother killed him.”

This, Ren knew.

Ren shudders.

Lightning. Force lightning.

“Who trained her?” Ren asks.

Hux shakes his head. “It’s better that you do not know,” he says. He guides Ren to his bedroom and helps Ren onto his slate of a bed. “Try… to contact Snoke next cycle. It is imperative that we be able to speak with him.”

“Hux,” Ren says when the other man turns to go.

“What?”

Without the paint, without the robes, Hux looks like he belongs here. In this room. On this ship. The cut of his jaw. The way his hair falls. He feels so familiar. Like Ren has known him forever.

“Stay,” Ren says, latching onto Hux’s wrist.

“Why?” Hux says. He bares his teeth like a wild animal. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to.”

Ren tugs Hux into bed and, surprisingly, Hux allows him.

The bed is narrow for Ren’s form. It’s not meant for two. Hux crawls atop Ren and settles his head against Ren’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“What are we doing?” Hux asks, finally.

"I don't know," says Ren.

Perhaps he never did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for minor character deaths and some violence

Another cycle goes by. But Snoke does not summon them, ignoring the message Ren had sent.

Snoke does not even summon him alone to discuss Paldagh or to bring him into his confidence. Ren can still taste lightning against his tongue, still smell the stench of death.

He does not feel bereft.

Correction: _he does. But he does not want to admit this to anyone._

Those rescued from Arkanis are of more concern for now. They’re cared for by MedBay and then assigned to various training programs. Officer tracts of all kinds for those not Force-sensitive. Weapons training for the Force sensitive.

Not a single Arkanian is sent to be a Stormtrooper.

This should be a relief.

The gymnasiums find themselves thick with activity. Training. The Knights of Ren arrive with their dusty cloaks and dirt streaked boots. They fight, they laugh, they win, they lose.

(They do not trust Kylo Ren. They could never trust Kylo Ren again, not after he had slaughtered the older, scarred Ren.)

Ren watches over as those Force-sensitive learn what it means to have a weapon in hand.

Most of them, at least. He does not see Paldagh.

He does not expect to see Paldagh. Not when she wears her old robes. Not when she still paints her face into a glowering skull.

So Ren settles for Hux and… whatever was between them.

Hux, who watches his people but avoids participating.

Hux, who is slender to the point of breaking.

“Spar with me,” Ren says to Hux. He removes his mask and lets it fall to the ground with a thud.

Hux tilts his head but eventually gives in. They use two staffs.

Ren has only known Hux for several cycles but already they are in tandem. They read each other, eyes trailing across their bodies. Ren has strength, Hux has speed.

They dance, staff striking staff. Agile feet against the plush mat of the training room. Again and again, until they both breathe heavily.

“Is that all you can do?” Hux asks him, twirling the staff behind him.

Ren lets out a half-growl and pounces.

They stop only when they grow aware of an audience.

General Pryde stands there, looking every bit displeased as ever. He claps, slowly. “Might I have a word with you, Lord Ren?” he asks.

Ren takes a breath. Nods. Gives Hux the staff he had been using. He’s nearly out of breath. Never had he been so lost in the feel of a fight. It was like all of his blood was replaced with electricity.

General Pryde keeps that sneer on his face, leading Ren to the closest conference room. It isn’t empty, but that doesn’t stop Pryde.

“You’re dismissed,” Pryde tells the officers gathered, interrupting the one who was speaking. Blueprints for something like the Death Star flicker and go dark.

The officers shuffle out, saluting sharply.

Only once the door slides shut does Pryde speak.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” asks Pryde. His voice is quiet. Steady.

He’s thinking of something else. The image of it is blurry. Distorted by time.

Ren blinks. He shifts, fingers twitching at his side. His sparring had been interrupted. And for what?

“Clarify what you are asking about, General Pryde,” Ren says. He misses his mask, his vocoder. He had not thought to put it on when he followed Pryde out of the gymnasium. Had not thought he would be gone long.

“The boy,” Pryde says, baring a sliver of his teeth. “What were you doing with the boy?”

“Hux is not a boy,” Ren says. “He is a man who must be respected. He is strong in the Force.” He narrows his eyes. “Unlike you.”

Pryde huffs, growing hot with anger. “You talk of respect. You should speak to me with respect, if you know it so well.”

There is a face that clings stubbornly to Pryde’s mind. Red hair, pushed back severely and smothered beneath hair wax. A smile that didn’t reach seafoam eyes. The Academy of Arkanis before it was blown to smithereens.

Pryde knows Brendol Hux. Had known Brendol Hux.

Would he want to know that Brendol Hux was dead? That Brendol Hux beat his child, a child that could not fight back. That Brendol Hux’s mistress had put a stop to it. Forever.

“The bastard is supposed to be Snoke’s,” Pryde says. He flexes his hand, the leather creaking. “Not yours.”

No.

Ren would not tell him anything. Not even if the man came begging on hands and knees, asking about the fate of his old, lost friend.

“We were training,” Ren says simply. “If that will be all.” He turns to go.

“Wait,” Pryde says, suddenly desperate.

Ren pauses, but does not turn around. “You’ll find that you’re wearing on my patience, General.”

“You mustn’t trust Hux,” Pryde says.

“Why not?”

“He’s a bastard. He—”

“Enough,” Ren says. “You have nothing valuable to say, as usual.”

He leaves and returns to the gymnasium.

Hux is no longer there. Neither is his mask.

*

While the Arkanians had been offered proper quarters, Hux alone refused the room given to him. He had claimed Ren’s room, had claimed the other man’s bed. Much like a cat.

This is why Ren was so sure that he knew where Hux is.

Ren strides into his quarters and stops short.

It’s dark.

“Lights, 100%.”

No one is here. Not Hux. Not Paldagh.

His mask isn’t here either.

Where could Hux have gone?

There is a hand upon his neck, as cold as the yawning void of space.

Ren whirls about, coming face to face with the painted Paldagh.

“Where. Is. My. Son?” Paldagh says. Her eyes are burning yellow, filled with hatred. Filled with fear.

Ren shakes his head. “How did you get in here?”

He hadn’t heard her footfalls. Had not heard the door slide open and shut. Had not known her to know any of the access codes.

“Where is Armitage?” Paldagh says, her hair rising, filled with static. “Where is he?” There is a desperation to her voice, a despair Ren had never heard before.

Paldagh loves her son, truly loves him in the way that Leia did not love Ben. Paldagh would never send Hux away the way Leia did. Paldagh kept him close. Paldagh protected him.

These are Leia’s failures.

“I don’t know but I’ll find him,” Ren finds himself saying.

There are only so many places on the Finalizer, only so many quarters and rooms.

“We’ll find him,” Paldagh corrects. “I can’t believe you lost sight of him!”

“He’s an adult,” Ren says, stalking the Finalizer’s halls, Paldagh at his side. He rethinks his conclusion. Perhaps Leia kept Ben at armslength, but Paldagh keeps Hux far too close, like she will become enmeshed with him. Ren casts his mind out, searching. He doesn’t feel Hux anywhere on this ship, doesn’t hear him in the Force.

But.

But there is an emptiness in the Medbay. A place beyond his reach. There. Hux will be there.

“He might be an adult, but he is still alone in this ship filled with people who are not his own,” Paldagh snarls. “Tell me, who are your men loyal to? Yourself or one of their own in uniform?”

Her words unsettle him deeply. He breaks into a run.

Ren pushes past officers and Stormtroopers alike. He busts into the Medbay and find Hux standing there, as though he were waiting.

There is a ysalamir at his feet. A fat, orange one. Ren staggers, weakened by the sudden loss of the Force. Where had Medbay even gotten a ysalamir from?

Near the ysalarmir is a dead body, a scalpel sticking out of the officer’s neck.

Ren releases a deep breath and turns his head. Paldagh is not there.

“What are you doing here?” Ren demands Hux.

Hux bends over and picks the ysalamir up, cradling it close like some sort of malshapen child. The lizard flickers out its narrow tongue but otherwise does not protest this treatment.

“One of your officers told me that I was required here,” Hux says. “The ysalamir was a surprise. So was his foolish attempt at subduing me.”

Ren lets out a stuttered breath. “You are alright,” Ren says, more of a statement than a question.

Hux nods slowly. He hoists the ysalamir closer, using it as a shield between them. “Did you know?” Hux demands.

“No,” Ren says. He approaches, puts a hand on the ysalamir’s skin. The creature blinks stupidly at that and does not wriggle away. “I didn’t think…”

He didn’t think that the First Order would continue to be the First Order. Filled with in-fighting and anger and distrust towards the Force. How foolish he was to assume that the Force could be Hux’s shield from the men that called his ship home.

“You didn’t think,” Hux repeats, scathingly. “But that is fine. We will make amends.”

Hux puts the ysalamir into Ren’s arms and shoos him away, until Hux exists outside of the Force-neutralizing bubble. He waves his hands, fingers splayed, and puppets the dead officer. The scalpel falls and the wound stitches itself shut, but the officer’s eyes are painfully blank.

“I’ll root out this infestation,” Hux says simply and walks the officer out, as if he had never died. “And I will cut it right out. Tell me, you aren’t attached to that General Pryde, are you?”

“No,” Ren says with a snort. “But he’s Snoke’s pet general.”

“Not for much longer,” Hux says slowly.

“What will you do with the ysalamir?” Ren asks Hux. He has half a mind to toss it out of the nearest airlock. How long has it been since he had been vulnerable in this way? Stripped of the Force like so many of the officers and Stormtroopers that made up the First Order.

The ysalamir, for all its worth, does not wriggle terribly, its head nestled in the crook of Ren’s arm.

Hux approaches again, runs a hand across ysalamir’s spine. “I’m sure we’ll find a use for it soon,” he says mildly.

*

Millicent the ysalamir is given to Lieutenant Mitaka promptly and without any explanation. Mitaka struggles to hold the squirming lizard and lets out a scandalized, “Sir?”

“Take care of it,” Ren says.

Hux overlooks this, chin tilted high. And then he turns his critical gaze to Ren. “I will need my paints,” he says.

Ren looks at him oddly. “Without them, you look like a junior officer,” he states mildly. Perhaps this is the problem.

“Without your mask, you just look like a drowning cat,” Hux says, just as mild.

Ren takes offense to this. He rolls his eyes.

How Hux could say such vicious things was a continued surprise. Ren was so used to fear. To anxiety. To some strange, desperate part of people simpering at the very sight of him, as though he would ignore the negative emotions he invoked in them.

_Bring the Arkanians to me._

Ren goes still, eyes wide. He can taste burnt ozone against the roof of his mouth.

“Ren?” says Hux.

“Snoke,” Ren says. “He has summoned us.”

*

The Arkanians are like water. A ripple passes through them and they all appear, swathed in dark, drab cloaks once again. On the shuttle, they paint their faces into those glowering skulls that had once haunted the crypt of Arkanis.

Ren can only watch on.

Hux is amongst them, something dark in his eyes. The robes he had been given are far too large for him. He looks as though he is drowning.

“Let us pray,” Hux says, once the stars are streaming around them.

“I pray that the tomb is shut forever. I pray that the rock is never rolled away. I pray that which was buried remains buried, insensate, in perpetual rest with closed eye and stilled brain. I pray it lives, I pray it sleeps. I pray it serves the eternal Emperor. Let it be so.”

“Let it be so,” the Arkanians echo.

Hux falls silent then, his hands held behind his back.

His mother flitters from Arkanian to Arkanian. Not once does she stay still. She whispers to them, encourages them. Offers platitudes. Kindnesses. All of this is in the foreign language of motherhood, a language that Ren does not know.

He cannot even tell which among them are Force-sensitive, so close all of Arkanis seems.

Ren sidles up to Hux. “The eternal Emperor, huh?” he says.

Hux snorts. “May he sleep,” Hux says, finally. “May he finally go to sleep. He is awake now. He is waiting.”

Ren watches him carefully. This is not a subject he should breech. Palpatine has long been dead. But if he’s some figure in Hux’s made-up religion, then Ren doesn’t want to be the one to clarify history for him.

“A word of advice, Ren, for what is to come,” says Hux, stubbornly looking away. “No matter what happens, do not let him in.”

*

The Supremacy is a cold starship. The beings that call it home are not human. The Supremacy is devoid of life, save for Snoke.

Snoke welcomes them in his throne room. He is larger than life, three times the size of a regular man. His face is twisted, scarred, and grey. Long has Ren wondered what battles Snoke must have seen in all his years. Now he wears a golden, glittering robe and soft shoes. Rings and gems adorn his fingers.

But he has not grown soft. He will never grow soft.

Not when there is a Galaxy that requires so many corrections.

Ren kneels before the throne, lowering his head. None of the Arkanians follow suit.

“Kylo Ren,” Snoke says, from the comfort of his throne. “You have done well, traveling to Arkanis and recovering their people. Long has the First Order grown roots on Arkanis. Now they have been transplanted to better soil. They will flourish here, where they belong.”

Snoke bears a smile, while all of the Arkanians scowl beneath black and white paints.

Hux is the one to step forth, hair like the dying of a star. “Supreme Leader Snoke,” Hux says. “We have accepted your terms and come aboard your great ships. We are grateful for your assistance. Long live the First Order.”

Snoke tilts his head, resting his chin upon a cheek. “What is your name, child?” he says, almost amused.

Hux pauses. “I am Armitage Hux, the Reverend Son of Arkanis, the Starkiller,” he says.

This has Snoke roaring with raucous laughter. He tilts his head back and draws on bejeweled hand to cover his mouth. “The Starkiller,” Snoke repeats mockingly. “How would you of all people even attempt to kill a star?”

Ren clenches his fists at his side. Why is Snoke doing this when he had said that the Arkanians are necessary?

Hux must share a similar thought because he takes a step forwards. “Supreme Leader Snoke, you must not be aware of our history. The system of Arkanis used to have another star,” he says quietly. His eyes are burning gold. “I ate that star until there was nothing left of it. Not even stardust.”

Ren wants him. Ren wants to bend him over the obsidian of the throne, to take him then and there, and to hold him close.

What perfect vessel he is of the Dark.

This has Snoke laughing again. “And why ever would you do such a thing?” he asks.

“The Death Star destroyed planets, one by one,” Hux says, his voice clipped. “But I am better. I can devour all the stars in the sky. But you would never accept that, would you? It was your mistake, leaving your daughter to rot on Arkanis.”

Snoke is silent.

_His_ daughter.

Paldagh is a flickering creature at Hux’s side, looking less and less human. Her face is a skull devoid of flesh and other soft tissues. Her eye sockets are empty. “Did it please you?” she asks, her jaw unmoving, her voice echoing in the heads of those gathered. “Did it please you to cut me from the Force and give me to Brendol like some unwanted mutt?”

Snoke remains silent. Still.

“Answer me, father,” Paldagh roars. “Did you laugh when you heard that Arkanis fell? Or were you relieved, to finally be rid of me? Did you truly think that failed clone of yours better?”

Snoke lashes out, lightning shooting from his hand.

But it doesn’t effect Paldagh.

She has long been dead.

“Kill them!” Snoke barks at Ren. The Praetorian Guards on either side of him turn their weapons on the huddled Arkanians.

Kylo Ren stands and turns on his lightsaber.

Kylo Ren splits Snoke in two.

*

When it is all over, the throne room on the Supremacy is ruined. Everything is smoldering. The dead bodies of the Praetorian Guards lay in pies across the ground, blood and gore clinging to seemingly every surface.

Ren is bathed in blood. He breathes quickly, tasting death across his tongue.

Snoke’s eyes and mouth are still open. He had been surprised in death.

Hux kneels beside him and shuts his eyes. “May you rest with stilled brain and closed eye, grandfather,” he tells the corpse.

“Do you think you can tell me what’s going on now?” Ren asks, growing impatient.

He had killed his master for Hux. He had forsaken everything for Hux.

Hux smiles softly and rises. He cups Ren’s cheek and presses their foreheads together, quite likely smearing paint across Ren’s face. “Palpatine didn’t die with the second Death Star,” he says. “No, he was far too invested with life. He lived on, taking stolen bodies.”

Ren shivers. “How’s he your grandfather?” he says.

“I suspect in the normal fashion,” Hux says, drawing away slowly. The white paint on his forehead is wearing away as suspected. But Ren finds that he doesn’t care. He is beyond caring. “Blood.”

“Paldagh…” Ren says.

But when he turns to speak with her, he finds that she is no longer there.

Tears drip down Hux’s cheeks. All of the Arkanians are crying, their faces bleeding black and white.

“Mother… mother had unfinished business,” Hux says, his voice hoarse. “She wanted to murder her father, the father that had been cruel to her. Abandoned her. Relished in her demise.”

Ren embraces him then, resting his hand across the narrow span of Hux’s back. Hux is shaking with the force of his sorrow. “She didn’t want to leave you,” he says. Hux’s sorrow is pulling him down, drowning him. “She loved you.”

He is certain of that, even if it wasn’t entirely in a healthy way.

This only makes Hux bite down another sob. He clenches his fists in Ren’s robes.

“She loved you,” Ren says. “She loved you.”

One by one the Arkanians kneel, bowing their heads.

“What are you doing?” Ren asks sharply.

Hux takes a brittle breath. He wipes his face, gloves coming away soiled with paint. “Swearing fealty to their new leaders.”

“The First Order won’t accept either one of us as its new Supreme Leader,” Ren says sharply.

What he really means is: _what corner of the Galaxy can they run to and hide?_ He does not exactly wish to return to Arkanis to live in a hole in the ground amongst yet more corpses.

Hux’s smile is lazy. “They never have to know,” he says kindly. With a hand, the strewn corpse pieces slot themself together again. Snoke sits on his throne, as if he had never been split in two.

“You beautiful bastard,” Ren says to Hux.

Hux kisses him deeply, so deeply that Ren can taste the paint (yuck).

But he gets over it. There are more important things to be concerned about when all the stars lie firmly within their grasp.

*

*

*


End file.
